


stacking sandbags against the river (of your troubles)

by ohvictor



Series: in the night [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Gen, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:10:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8647624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohvictor/pseuds/ohvictor
Summary: It’s almost peaceful, even though most of Jesse’s joints ache, and Hanzo looks paler than he ought to, and they killed a lot of people this morning, and that’s routine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this functions as a sequel (or second part) to [this earlier fic of mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8504620), which is 100% nsfw. neither one is required to understand the other, but they take place on the same night, an hour or so apart. 
> 
> content warnings: contains implied emetophobia triggers, but nothing explicit. also contains consumption of food and alcohol.

“You good, baby?”

From the other side of the bathroom door, all Jesse can hear is the faint sound of running water. Hanzo doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, it’s just a grumble, barely audible.

“That a no, then?”

There’s no answer. Jesse pushes off the door and moves back towards the bed, where indents left by himself and Hanzo are still visible from moments ago. He sways suddenly as he reaches the bedside. Clearly the cheese puffs he and Hanzo had been eating are no substitute for a real meal, not that Jesse feels even the least bit inclined to cook something.

Still, cheese puffs on an empty stomach after a day of adrenaline and anxiety had gotten Hanzo sick, so it’s possible that the diet isn’t treating Jesse too well, either.

“Hanzo,” Jesse says to the bathroom door. “Darlin’. Do you mind if I grab food in the kitchen? See who else is up?”

The toilet flushes. Jesse waits as the noise dies down, and then Hanzo opens the door and pops his head out. Jesse waves at him.

Hanzo grimaces back. “Go ahead,” he says.

“I’ll bring my comm,” Jesse tells him. “If you need anything.”

“Mm.” Hanzo’s eyes fix pointedly on Jesse’s bare chest, and then he retreats back into the bathroom and shuts the door.

“Oh,” Jesse says, and makes a beeline for the closet. “Thanks!”

“Don’t mention it.”

Jesse’s most comfortable binder is in the wash, so he grabs the first one his fingers find and tugs it on, and then swipes his shirt from the floor and a pair of sweatpants he’s pretty sure were originally Jack’s from the heap of clean laundry on one of the chairs. Definitely better than wandering the base with his chest out. Now clothed, Jesse tucks his comm into his pocket and, after one last glance around the room, he heads off to the kitchen.

Gibraltar is too quiet at night, and Jesse has yet to get accustomed to it. Everything echoes, footsteps and voices and the rustle of fabric or paper. Sometimes, it feels like he lives in a dusty box containing every memory he’s had since he was seventeen. Sometimes it feels like the past twenty years never happened, like he’s never been here in his life. Like the place is a carbon copy of the buildings where Jesse spent some of the best years of his life, constructed only as a monument.

Some things are the same; he’s got the same stashes of junk food in the kitchen, which looks mostly the same as it always did. There’s new tech bolted onto the counters, the old machines crammed into cabinets or stacked on top of each other on top of the fridges. The oven is new; Jesse hasn’t used it since he moved back in here, but then again, he hasn’t needed to.

The thought of cooking is exhausting, so Jesse resorts to his usual snacking methods. The open bag of chips in the cabinet labeled “McCree” is suspiciously less full than he remembers leaving it, but the most likely culprit is Hanzo, so that’s okay. In the fridge, he finds a mostly empty bottle of Hanzo’s sake and a bottle of Reinhardt’s preferred brew, and he carries his spoils to the couch in the rec room across the hall. A few handfuls of chips and a disproportionate amount of alcohol; if Hanzo were here, he’d definitely scold him, the hypocrite.

Jesse finds the rec room already occupied; Lena is sitting cross-legged in the only fully intact armchair, typing away on a pad, and Fareeha is dozing next to Angela on the couch as something plays on the big screen on the wall, volume muted. Jesse thinks about putting Reinhardt’s beer back and getting something a little more nutritious instead, but these three have seen him putting junk into his body for years; they can’t give him any shit he hasn’t already heard before.

“Sit,” Angela mouths to him, patting the couch next to her. Jesse shuffles over and takes the seat, putting the bottles on the floor by the couch leg and tucking the bag of chips into his lap. He swings his legs up onto the couch and nestles them between Angela and himself. She doesn’t comment, on his legs or his diet, but he does notice her eyes narrow a little as she watches him unclip the bag of chips.

At the crinkle of aluminum, Fareeha jolts awake and blinks suspiciously at Jesse. Jesse gives her a two-fingered wave, and she relaxes back into the couch cushions, sniffing sleepily.

“Y’should go to bed,” Jesse whispers.

“You’re not my mom,” Fareeha whispers back.

“I met your mom, and I got a message from her; it says, go to bed.”

“Tell her to give it to me in writing.”

“Jesse,” Lena says, their normal volume making both Jesse and Fareeha jump. “Is that all you’re eating, love? I can go and heat up something for you; there’s some soup in the freebie cabinet, and some of those reheatable burritos--”

Jesse waves a hand before Lena can continue. “It’s fine, Trace, promise. I ain’t too hungry.”

Three dubious expressions turn his way, and Jesse huffs, reaches for his hat to lower the brim and of course finds nothing, and tugs at his collar instead.

“C’mon, don’t act like I’m the only one of us who wasn’t hungry tonight. We’ve been in this shit too long together.” Jesse waves his bag of chips. “What did any of y’all have for dinner, hm?”

“I had spaghetti,” Lena announces, and Angela nods and turns to Fareeha.

“I had a big breakfast,” Fareeha mutters.

“ _Fareeha_ ,” Angela starts, as footsteps echo outside the room, drawing everyone’s attention.

Genji enters, followed by Hana and Zenyatta. Genji and Zenyatta look the same as ever, unlike the occupants of the rec room all wearing sweats, Angela’s hair still damp at the tips from a recent shower. Hana is wearing a cute set of themed pajamas sporting the mascot from her mech, and socks with holes in them. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s carrying a bag of what looks like rice crackers.

“Evening,” Zenyatta says pleasantly. Jesse doesn’t think he’s ever heard Zenyatta say something _not_ pleasantly. “I hope we aren’t interrupting.”

“No, not at all,” says Lena. “‘Fraid there’s not much room in here, though.”

“Whatcha watching?’ Hana asks Angela. “Is that the news?”

Angela shrugs. “It was playing when I got here.”

“I’m turning it off, then,” Hana announces, and settles herself on the floor in front of the screen control box. As Zenyatta hovers next to Hana, presumably watching what she’s doing, Genji perches on the arm of the couch next to Jesse and messes up his hair fondly.

“Get off,” Jesse whines, making Genji laugh. Genji always had a nice laugh, easy and infectious.

“We’re going to play FOTS,” says Genji.

“I figured,” says Jesse. Next to him, Fareeha perks up, interested. “Are you finally going to beat Hana’s high scores, Genji?”

“Not a chance,” Hana says, and Jesse and Fareeha laugh.

“I will give it my best shot,” Genji says seriously. “She can’t hold out forever.”

“Your reflexes are fading in your old age,” Hana mutters.

Genji snorts something in Japanese, even though no one in the room but Hana can understand. She scoffs something back, as Jesse picks up the bottle of Hanzo’s sake and takes a long drink. It’s dry and a little sweet, and it kind of tastes like Hanzo, mostly drunk Hanzo. Next to him, Genji notices the sake. “Isn’t that my brother’s?”

Jesse grins. “Yeah.”

“Where is Hanzo?” Zenyatta asks.

Jesse makes a face. “That’s classified information.”

“Gross,” says Lena, looking excited at the prospect of gossip.

“He’s sick,” Jesse clarifies, deadpan.

“Come here, _oji-san_ ,” says Hana, patting the carpet next to her. “Somebody changed the input channel, and this shit is too old for me to understand.”

If Genji made a face in response to the insulting name, it’s hidden; he slides off the couch arm and sits next to Hana. Jesse cranes his neck and watches as Genji identifies and fixes the change in under a minute. Hana doesn’t bother looking impressed as she grabs two controllers from the cabinet under the screen and offers one to Genji.

“I bet Winston was watching old movies again,” says Lena, fond. “He’s getting to be such a grandpa.”

Several faces turn toward Lena in varied states of alarm.

“Winston isn’t even thirty,” Fareeha says. “I am _older_ than Winston.”

“Oh, are you?” Lena giggles. “He’s just such a dad!”

“Big poppa,” Jesse says under his breath. Angela elbows him, and he laughs into his sake.

The FOTS menu theme pipes in through the wall speakers, and Hana twiddles the dial on the console to crank it up to an irritating volume. Fareeha groans in protest and burrows her head into Angela’s shoulder. “Too loud.”

“I know a place that’s much quieter,” Angela tells her. “It starts with a ‘b’, and rhymes with...”

“Head,” Jesse supplies.

“Yes, thank you. Can you think what it might be, Fareeha?”

Fareeha just grumbles and snuggles closer. Angela looks for a moment like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, and then she hesitantly smoothes Fareeha’s hair back from her temple.

Watching them feels a little invasive, so Jesse turns his attention to the screen, where Genji and Hana are choosing characters. He drains Hanzo’s sake bottle and moves on to Reinhardt’s beer, after a quick glance at the doorway to make sure Reinhardt isn’t about to join them. Hana and Genji rapidly lapse into Japanese, easier for Genji and no harder for Hana than English, and their voices and the music of the game fade into a blur of sound.

Jesse’s comm buzzes in his hand, and displays a message from Hanzo: _Where r you?_ He types back, _rec room w/ people_ , and Hanzo opens the message but doesn’t reply. Hope sparks in Jesse’s chest; maybe Hanzo feels better and is coming to join him. It would be fun to have Hanzo there, maybe sitting on the floor, leaning back against Jesse’s legs, and heckling Genji and Hana.

Hanzo doesn’t appear, though; the next person to enter the room is Winston, probably ten minutes later. By that point Fareeha is fast asleep against Angela’s shoulder, and Angela looks sleepy herself, despite the racket Genji and Hana are making. Zenyatta hovers next to Genji, uninterested in the game but amused by Hana’s obvious skill against Genji’s dirty tactics. Winston pads into the room, takes in the scene, and mournfully asks, “You didn’t touch my old disks, did you?”

“Winston!” says Lena cheerily. “Of course not!”

“I thought they might fall apart in my hands if I touched them,” Hana says, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Are those things from the thirties?”

“Probably at least 2040,” Genji guesses.

“They’re from a wide range of years, actually,” Winston says proudly. “I’ve got quite a collection.”

“Fascinating,” Hana deadpans.

Winston harrumphs. “Well, I suppose not everyone has to be interested in old films.” He plops down on the floor next to Genji. “What’s this?”

“It’s FOTS. I am winning,” Genji says, and holds a hand in front of Winston’s face as Winston looks up at the screen. “See? Hana does not stand a chance.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Winston says agreeably.

The game music quiets for a moment as the match ends and the menu loads, and Jesse’s stomach chooses that window of time to make a weird squelching growl. Angela’s head pops up, her expression surprised at first, and then she gives Jesse a disapproving look and gestures sleepily at the bag of chips, now emptied and balled up in one of Jesse’s hands. Jesse offers it to her, and she frowns pointedly. Jesse can’t argue with his body _and_ his doctor, though, so he stands up and heads back into the kitchen, taking his bottles with him. The chip bag goes in one recycler and the sake bottle in another, and he takes a swig of the half-empty bottle of beer as he roots through the fridge to find something easily reheatable.

It’s then that Hanzo finally appears, his shoulders hunched inwards and his hair tied back in a low ponytail. He looks a little constipated, which isn’t unusual, but Jesse’s pretty sure it’s real constipation and not just his mood. Neither of them say a word; Jesse lifts one arm and Hanzo shuffles over and tucks himself under it, his head ducked and his hair tousling against Jesse’s shirt, and he slings an arm around Jesse’s waist as Jesse tightens his arm around Hanzo’s shoulders and plants a kiss in his hair.

“You smell like sake,” Hanzo mumbles.

“Sorry,” Jesse whispers. “I missed ya in there. Was feelin’ like a third wheel or whatever.”

Hanzo huffs. “Would you have preferred sitting in the bathroom with me?”

“That a rhetorical question?”

“Absolutely.”

They fall silent for a few moments. Jesse nuzzles the crown of Hanzo’s head. “How’re you feelin’ now? Want something to drink?”

“Well, if you drank all my sake...”

“Just the open bottle.”

“Ugh.” Hanzo turns his head towards the fridge. “Do we have any instant rice left?”

“Prob’ly.”

“Make me some instant rice.”

“‘Kay.”

Neither of them move. Hanzo rubs his nose against the seam of Jesse’s sleeve, as if scratching an itch. Genji’s voice rises above the music of the game in the other room; Jesse doesn’t understand what he says, but he feels Hanzo snort in response.

“They’re playing FOTS,” Jesse explains.

“I assumed so.”

A monitor light on the wall flickers as the room temperature auto-adjusts a degree or two. Jesse’s stomach growls again. A door slides open and shut down the hall, and heavy footsteps tread off in the opposite direction of the kitchen. Hana whoops in the other room.

It’s almost peaceful, even though most of Jesse’s joints ache, and Hanzo looks paler than he ought to, and they killed a lot of people this morning, and that’s routine. It’s what Jesse’s been living since he was a kid, but some parts are different; some parts are better, some are worse. If Jesse could bring people back to life, resolve old disagreements, mend bodies, he could make it perfect, and he used to think he would in a heartbeat, no matter the price, but he’s been starting to think he likes where he is now, too. It’s weird, having people worth sticking around for again.

“Jesse,” Hanzo says, and Jesse blinks back to the present, the old base kitchen flickering through time with him. “Rice?”

“Rice,” Jesse agrees firmly. “Do you want anything on it?”

“No, thank you.”

The rec room door swooshes and Lúcio’s voice is audible over the FOTS music. Jesse lifts his arm and Hanzo ducks out from under it, and steps back to lean against the counter, arms folded tightly against his chest as if cold. Jesse finds the last two packages of a six-pack of instant rice and pops one in the microwave, and adds “instant rice” to the shopping list tacked to the fridge as the rice heats up. Hanzo yawns, and doesn’t cover his mouth.

The microwave beeps as Jesse is digging through drawers in search of disposable chopsticks; he finally finds a pair on the counter next to a pile of month-old mission debriefings, so he adds “chopsticks” to the shopping list too, already anticipating the conversation with Angela about how there are plenty of reusable chopsticks in the kitchen, Jesse, if you would just do dishes for once, it’s better for the environment anyway. Hanzo opens the microwave and gingerly takes out the rice, his face screwing up in a wince as he touches the hot container. Then he stands there, holding the rice with the tips of his fingers, seemingly unsure what to do.

Jesse opens yet another cabinet - Torbjörn’s - and finds a bag of jerky, and he takes it with one hand and leads the way back into the rec room. Hanzo follows, still carefully holding the rice.

The rec room is unchanged except that Lúcio, the pronoun chip pinned to his shirt displaying “he/ _ele_ ”, has taken Jesse’s seat on the couch, and is loudly heckling Hana and Genji. Fareeha is still asleep, but Angela is watching the game with a surprising degree of interest. Winston, bending over Lena’s chair, is showing them something on the pad. Jesse and Hanzo skirt the edge of the room and sit down on the floor next to the couch. Hanzo takes the chopsticks out of their wrappings and sniffs the rice without interest.

“Shit, did I take your seat? Either of you?” Lúcio says. “You want it back?”

“Nah, we’re just fine here on the floor,” Jesse says. “How’s your night going, Lúcio?”

Lúcio gestures at the TV. “It’s great! I get to watch the esteemed Hana Song kick ass in FOTS for free, what’s better than this?”

“Fanboy,” Genji says, as Hana reaches back to high five Lúcio.

Hanzo’s head droops onto Jesse’s shoulder; Jesse looks down and finds Hanzo’s eaten only a few bites of rice. Sympathetic, Jesse turns his head and nuzzles Hanzo’s forehead, kissing his hairline. Hanzo blinks, then closes his eyes again.

“Tired?” Jesse murmurs. Hanzo hums noncommittally.

“Still sick?”

“Mm.”

“I’m still up for a bathroom date, y’know.”

Hanzo snorts. “ _Stop_.”

Jesse grins and opens the bag of jerky. Hanzo doesn’t protest the faint meat smell, so Jesse chews on a piece and tries to follow along with the FOTS match. He’s never played FOTS himself, but people are playing it often enough at the base that he recognizes some elements of strategy and gameplay. That and watching the players can usually tell him how the game is going. In this case, Genji and Hana are pretty well matched, although somehow, Hana always comes out on top.

“You are _dirty_ , Shimada,” Lúcio says as the current match ends. Genji and Hana’s scores are barely a hundred points apart. Hana flashes a peace sign, and Genji groans and drops his controller in his lap.

“Even my best tricks are nothing against her. What’s the secret?”

“You aren’t good enough,” Hana says.

“That is not true. I am a technological masterpiece with excellent reflexes,” Genji says. “Right, Dr. Ziegler?”

There’s no edge to his voice, which Jesse decides to credit Zenyatta for.

“Right,” Angela agrees tiredly. “I don’t think cybernetics make a difference in video games, though.”

Hana beams. “If I’m still easily beating a man heavily enhanced with cybernetics, and I’m just a _fragile_ human, what’s that say about me, hm?”

“And you’re not even the one cheating,” Zenyatta says mildly.

“Master! Whose side are you on here?”

In the back, Lena is standing; their joints pop as they stretch and yawn. Even they are getting older. Winston, who’s pulled three all-nighters a week as long as Jesse’s known him, looks as alert as always, even if his fur is two days into the matted bedhead stage.

They bid goodnight to the room and head off down the hall. Hana stifles a yawn behind her hand, and Zenyatta takes that cue to suggest heading to bed. Genji shuts off the console, and Angela rouses Fareeha, who looks embarrassed at having fallen asleep on Angela’s shoulder, combing her fingers through her hair and carefully smoothing wrinkles from her shirt. In pairs and quartets they trickle out of the rec room, leaving Jesse and Hanzo still sitting on the floor.

“Wanna go to bed?” Jesse whispers.

“Might as well,” Hanzo sighs. He offers Jesse the rice. “Do you want the rest of this?”

“You ain’t gonna want it later?”

“No.”

Jesse doubts this, but he still shovels the rest of the rice into his mouth, finishing it in a few bites. Next to him, Hanzo stands up and straightens his back, grimacing. Jesse offers him the empty rice and the used chopsticks, and Hanzo trudges over to the recyclers and tosses them as Jesse gets to his feet.

The light flicks off as they leave the room, hand in hand, Torbjörn’s jerky still under Jesse’s other arm. Jesse whistles tunelessly as they walk, slowly progressing to the elevator and then whooshing down to the hall where Jesse’s room is. Inside Jesse’s room, the bed is still a mess with sheets askew, but Hanzo immediately flops onto it and crawls into a sleeping position. Jesse keys the lights off and shuts the door, sets the jerky on the dresser, and squirms out of his shirt, binder, and pants. He gropes for the bedside in the dark, and rolls onto the bed next to Hanzo, who wastes no time in wrapping all of his limbs around Jesse and burying his face in Jesse’s sternum.

“How ya feeling?” Jesse asks softly.

“Gross.” Hanzo yawns into Jesse’s chest. “Sleepy. Warm.”

“Aw. Sleep’ll help.”

“Maybe.”

“If you’re asleep, y’can’t feel sick.”

“Could choke on vomit and die.”

“Nope,” Jesse says firmly. “If I heard you choking, I’d wake up and save you.”

“How heroic of you.”

“‘S my job. Actually both of our job.”

“Mm-hm.” Hanzo is agreeing, which means he’s too tired to keep the conversation going. Jesse smiles and kisses his hair.

“Night, sugar.”

“Love you,” says Hanzo.

“Love you too,” Jesse says back.

**Author's Note:**

> some small clarification notes:
> 
>   * i hc nearly all of overwatch as not cis, but only three have their transness explicitly mentioned here: tracer is nonbinary, mccree is a trans man, and lúcio is genderfluid.
>   * lúcio's pronoun chip is a small digital screen pinned to his shirt that he can change; it displays his current pronouns in english and portuguese. i don't speak portuguese, so if i messed up the word for "he", let me know and i'll fix it!
>   * d.va speaks japanese because her voice actress speaks japanese (as well as korean and english); that's the only reason.
>   * i don't know anything about fighters nor heroes of the storm; i don't know how one cheats at either.
>   * tried to allow for 2076 improved tech.
> 

> 
> title is (again) from come on home by the indigo girls.


End file.
